Shades of Scarlet
by Ikonopeiston
Summary: AU An exploration into why Nooj does some of the things he does and how the pattern became fixed.


The character of Nooj is the sole property of Square-Enix.

A/N - This takes place shortly after Nooj has become a member of the Crusaders and before he was maimed by Sin.

**SHADES OF SCARLET**

**TRANSITION - 10**

Nooj flung himself onto his bed, grateful that he had private quarters assigned to him even though that was not the usual case in a freshly commissioned Crusader. When he had first realized that he would not be sharing his room with anyone, he has suspected that his reputation from his training years had preceded him and that no one was eager to live in close proximity to one of his saturnine temperament and unbending respect for the rules. Now, he no longer cared why he was alone in the small room, he was just glad of it. The solitude was particularly welcome on the days when he visited the House of Pain. He told himself, not for the first time, that he must try to avoid too frequent visits to that building on the edge of the encampment. While it was expected that young officers would sample the offerings of that place as they did those of the other establishment, the House of Pleasure, too many samples, too often tasted reflected adversely on a newly minted lieutenant and might even hinder his rise in the ranks.

He had much to think about this time, but first he felt he must wash. The stink of his own body sickened him. He looked at his hands and saw that blood was still caked in dark crescents beneath his fingernails and there were sticky smears on his palms where he had not adequately wiped away the residue of his acts. His tunic was stained as well as his breeches and his polished boots had ominous drops drying on them. With an audible expression of disgust, he stripped off everything and threw it into a corner of the room; he would call an orderly later to take the clothes to the cleaners and re-polish the boots. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he made his way down the empty corridor to the shower enclosure. That area was also deserted which pleased him; he wanted no company until he had found the time to sort out his thoughts. He stood a long time under the pounding water, rinsing his hair and body until the water which sluiced off him was clear instead of being varying shades of scarlet. He took a brush to his hands and nails and scrubbed until they were nearly raw. Only then did he turn off the water, dry himself and return to his room. Lying naked on his bed, still edgily aware of the metallic reek of blood from the soiled clothes on the floor, he permitted himself to remember the extraordinary experience just past.

-X-

He had gone to the House of Pain because he was feeling the urgency in his body. It was like the intensifying need for a woman but less centralized. It always seemed to him that if he did not indulge his craving to cause pain, he would lose control and lash out at some innocent without intention or remorse. In this way he rationalized his indulgence as necessary to his own health and to the safety of those around him.

In the House of Pain, all the denizens were volunteers, a collection of mostly men who for reasons of their own had chosen to find pain and, usually, death at the hands of those who sought their own pleasure in dispensing such. It was in some ways a counterpart to the House of Pleasure which stood not far away in a more open terrain and bearing a large sign advertising its wares. The House of Pain was more discreet, a smaller building nestled in the edge of the woods and unlabeled. Those who knew of it passed the word of its existence to those who did not. Nooj surmised that his ferocity in battle had served as his password into the fraternity of the knowledgeable.

He had been there several times and had learned the drill. No names were used and payment was in cash only. The visitor was ushered to a private room and there awaited the arrival of the victim who was chosen by lot. Nooj waited with patience, disinclined to lose the sense of anticipation which in many ways was the high point of the experience. In his scarlet tunic, he stood out like a splash of blood against the drabness of the furnishings.

The man who entered the room was different from the type Nooj had encountered on his earlier visits. He wore the same single shapeless garment as the others and bore neither weapons nor ornaments. However, he walked with a firm, almost buoyant step and looked his executioner directly in the face, rather than staring at the floor the way the others generally did. Without delay, he unlaced the strings at the neck of his shirt and let it fall at his feet, revealing a lean, muscular body cross hatched with a silvery web of old scars. Across his shoulders, some partially healed whip marks bore witness to the search for pain which had led him to this House. Nooj felt a flash of recognition as if he was looking at himself in later years for the man was his height and his colouring and about a decade older.

The unnamed man stood there, perfectly at ease as though he had already transcended the demands and humiliations of the flesh. "I want you to kill me, but I do not want to be butchered. Kill me with grace and some style. My body is your canvas, this..." he touched the dagger still in its sheath on Nooj's belt, "is your brush. Create your vision." He smiled and, placing his hands on Nooj's shoulders, kissed him full on the mouth. Nooj could feel the man's tongue glide between his lips and stroke his own tongue. A dreamlike state crept over the young Crusader. He did not draw back but stood immobile, letting the moment play out as it must. "My name is Dajorn," the older man said, smiling as he released his grip and stepped away. "I am ready."

For an appreciable time, Nooj hesitated. It had been his habit to come to this place, do what his appetites compelled him to do, and leave. However, he felt he owed more to this man with whom he had shared that strange kiss. Drawing his dagger, it was with an unaccustomed tentativeness that he raised it to test its scalpel-sharp point on the white skin offered so calmly for his use.

As he continued, he began to sense something unique and amazing. Dajorn had remained silent for a long time but had finally begun to make the whimpering sounds of a man forcing himself to extremes of courage and stoicism. It had become a ceremony, a rite of transmutation, ennobling the both of them. Acutely conscious of the wish of this unexpected gift, Nooj took care to carve elegant lines into the torso and later the face of the living canvas. It was a matter of respect and paying honour to honour. The scarlet lines became a blur as they ran together but Nooj held the pattern firmly in his mind's eye and did not falter simply because he could no longer see the design with his physical sight. Then when Dajorn lay on the floor, no longer bleeding because his lion's heart had finally burst, a twisted smile on his tortured lips, Nooj felt shriven, cleansed, renewed, his passion spent. He was at peace as he had not been since his first year in training when he had led a disastrous foray across the Calm Lands. He almost fell to his knees as the tension left his muscles. He sheathed his bloodied dagger and, crouching, cupped his hands around the grotesque face of his victim and looked with the most profound love into the nearly closed eyes which were already frosting over in the chill of death.

-X-

Nooj turned over on his narrow bed, feeling the coarse texture of the coverlet against his nakedness. His skin seemed oddly sensitive. He sat up and looked at the dagger on his night table, its blade still crusted with the blood of the man who had died with such dignity. Taking it in his hand, Nooj placed the tip against his own chest and pressed. A scarlet thread immediately traced its way down his ribs. As he pressed harder, the revelation came to him that if he did not find his death on the battlefield he could always go in the other door at the House of Pain and share the gift Dajorn had given him with the visitors who came there. Until that day, he would be the visitor himself and find his miracle again. A deep sense of well-being suffused his body and he fell asleep, clutching the dagger in his hand and holding the two comforting thoughts securely in his mind.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

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